


Of Hooch and Hospitality

by harrypanther



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Actually nobody but Bilbo can handle Hobbit Hooch, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Drinking Games, Elves really can't hold their drink, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Food Fights, Hobbit Moonshine, M/M, Post-Hobbit, Thranduil being an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrypanther/pseuds/harrypanther
Summary: Summary: AU-Everyone Lives. A celebratory banquet to thank the allies of Erebor after the Battle of Five Armies goes slightly (very) awry. Maybe Thranduil shouldn’t have commented that dwarves were just drunken ruffians…A/N: In gratitude for Vala 411’s very kind birthday present (my precious) of a story about Hiccuping dwarves, I may have volunteered to treat her to some drunken elves. I take no responsibility for any consequences or elvish embarrassment. And I may have got carried away…feels crept in...and a conga line...
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 140





	Of Hooch and Hospitality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vala411](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vala411/gifts).



> Disclaimer: All rights to the Hobbit remain with JRR Tolkien and New Line Cinema.
> 
> All drunken antics are based on the results of extensive research by the author during an exemplary University career (!)

**OF HOOCH AND HOSPITALITY**

Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit of the Shire and Dwarf Friend, currently resident in the rather battered but newly reclaimed Kingdom of Erebor, was definitely not hiding on the parapets above the entrance to the Lonely Mountain. In no way was he avoiding a group of irascible and frenetic dwarves who were tying themselves in knots to get everything perfect for the upcoming celebration. And he was certainly not skulking up here to avoid a certain moody King who was stomping around and grumbling about the imminent presence of ‘damned tree huggers’ in his home.

The winter was almost past and much of the rubble had been cleared from the main public spaces in Erebor. Of course, the Throne Room was still a bit battered-what with the hole the dragon had made through the wall-and the main gates were frankly still a mess but time was long overdue for the dwarves of Erebor to hold the feast they had promised to honour their allies in the climactic battle that had won back their home. And with the improvement in the weather, the supplies they had ordered had finally arrived to ensure that the banquet would be worthy of the grandeur and importance of the occasion.

There had been no opportunity in the immediate aftermath, what with the dead and dying littering the battlefield and the frantic attempts to save the lives of Thorin and his nephews. All three had been gravely wounded-Thorin most of all-and it was some sort of miracle that he had pulled through at all. The combined efforts of Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel had been required to haul the stubborn dwarven King back from the threshold of Mahal’s Halls and keep him on Middle Earth for a while longer. His nephews had bounced back relatively quickly-Kili had the efforts of Tauriel to thank while Fili had been dragged back by his younger brother’s love-but Thorin’s recuperation had been long, slow and painful. The interior of Erebor was barely habitable and the dwarves had huddled in a couple of smaller chambers, living communally as they had on the Quest until they could dig out the entrance to the Royal Chambers, which were relatively untouched. And then, finally, Thorin and his nephews were moved to more appropriate rooms to recuperate.

Bombur had been distressed and delighted in equal measures by the kitchens, his chef’s soul soaring at the opportunity to use such amazing facilities but despairing of the detritus and rubble of a century or more of neglect. Aided by his brother, Bilbo and several of Dain’s soldiers, they had taken a week to remove all the trash, rotten food and mould and finally scrubbed the place down. Ori and Balin had investigated the Library, both shocked at the level of destruction but heartened that there were still a significant number of books and documents that had escaped unscathed, though many more were badly foxed (as well as comprehensively dragoned). Dwalin, Bifur and Dain had investigated the armoury and had catalogued the weapons and assets while Oin, Gloin, Dori and Nori had explored the infirmary, stores and the wrecked markets.

When it was clearly time to return home, Dain had left detachment of dwarves to help clear the mountain, many of whom had sought refuge in the Iron Hills when Erebor had fallen or who had lost kin in the calamity. All were happy to work under the direction of Balin and clear the dragon damage away, though their priority to ensure there was room for the refugees from Laketown to shelter from the worsening weather. The shocked and traumatised survivors were clearly apprehensive at their new lodgings but Balin and Bilbo had ensured they were in a large, open area that had formerly been one of the wide reception halls close to the gates with plenty of light and air. The Hobbit had been especially helpful in this, meeting with Bard and the prominent citizens and able to appreciate the reactions of the Laketown people, for though Hobbits lived in smials, their homes were light and airy and they spent most of their time outside. Bilbo could appreciate the apprehension of living inside the mountain in a way no dwarf could. 

During the breaks in the weather, the Men and some of Dain’s soldiers had gone to start the business of exploring Dale and had helped to clear away the rubble, find what buildings were stable and which could start to be used. Some were strengthened, others demolished as dangerously unstable and some new homes swiftly reconstructed to start providing shelter. The Iron Hills and Mirkwood had provided food supplies to support the dwarves and Men and the dwarves had sent out emissaries to the surrounding villages of Men and the southern kingdoms of Rohan and Gondor to purchase essential supplies, food and medicines and though things had been tight, there had been enough to ensure that the inhabitants of the mountain survived the winter.

Bilbo pulled out his pipe, thumbed in a little of the last of the Old Toby he had been saving, and lit it. Taking a pull, he sat back, blowing a smoke ring and gazing across the plain to Dale. The sky was swathed in roiling great clouds, scudding across the sky in the brisk westerly wind. Gaps between the clouds shone beams of pale sunlight over the grey ground, still churned and barren. He sighed.

“I thought I’d find you here, Master Baggins,” a familiar voice said and Bilbo started, almost dropping his pipe. he glanced up to see Thorin standing a few feet away from him, smiling.

“Thorin!” he exclaimed and then made to scramble up but Thorin waved him to remain where he was as he lowered himself gingerly to sit by the Hobbit. “I was just…I mean…” The King chuckled.

“While I know that Hobbits love nothing more than entertaining-with proper warning, of course…” he began, his blue eyes twinkling at the memory of Bilbo’s indignant reaction to his Company’s unheralded invasion of Bilbo’s home, “I can appreciate you may need a break from all…this.”

“You mean Bombur threatening to chop Bofur up and put him in a pie for stealing half his cinnamon muffins?” Thorin’s eyebrows shot up.

“I hadn’t heard of that one,” he confessed. “But Balin and Dwalin are arguing over security versus protocol, Kili and Fili are disagreeing with Dori over the seating arrangements and Gloin wants to know how much this is all going to cost.” He folded his arms and closed his eyes tiredly, resting his head back against the stone.

“You mean despite the fact that one of the halls actually has a solid golden floor, Gloin is moaning about the cost?” Bilbo asked.

“Constantly,” Thorin sighed. “And Thranduil…” His brows scrunched in a frown and Bilbo half-turned to look at him. There was an edge to Thorin’s voice that reminded him of the journey. When they had met, Thorin had an incalculable animus to Elves, born of seeing Thranduil turn away and not aid the refugees from Erebor after the dragon had attacked and stolen their home. From talking with Balin and Thorin, Bilbo understood that Thranduil and Thror had already a fractured relationship before Smaug came, a result of Thror’s worsening Gold Sickness and he also pointed out that Thranduil attacking a dragon inside a mountain would not have regained Erebor either. But Thranduil’s actions, though partially motivated by self-preservation, were also undoubtably driven by a more petty and venal desire for revenge on the dwarves for his humiliation. His continuing refusal to help the refugees from Erebor had just underlined his pettiness. Yet Elrond had offered sanctuary and assistance and his help-with Galadriel-in saving Thorin’s life and that of his nephews-had persuaded the King that not all Elves were enemies to dwarves.

But Thranduil still intensely disliked Thorin and though the dwarf King had tried to think more favourably of his neighbour, he couldn’t manage to like the Elf. And Thranduil made no effort to bend either.

“What’s he done now?” Bilbo asked, seeing Thorin looking tired.

“He’s insisting on bringing double the delegation we agreed on to the Feast,” he sighed, looking at Bilbo. There was frustration bubbling in his clear gaze. “He knows well the limits of our resources at present and yet he seems determined to rub our noses in the fact that we are dependent on him for our food at present.” Bilbo patted him on the arm.

“It won’t be for ever-and you can still show him infinitely better hospitality than he offered you during your time in Mirkwood,” he reminded Thorin. The King grimaced.

“I didn’t make things easier-but being held prisoner in the dampest, darkest dungeon he had didn’t do much for my temper,” he admitted. “Thank Mahal we had you, Bilbo. Otherwise we would still be in those cells and the dragon would remain asleep on his pile of gold…”

“Or he would have forayed out and incinerated a few more innocent people,” Bilbo replied. “He was already awake when I entered the Mountain!” Then he inspected the King, reading Thorin’s pensive expression. “This isn’t just about a few more guests, is it?”

“No,” Thorin conceded reluctantly. He was still afflicted by pride, even though his madness was long gone. “I honoured your bargain. I returned the white gems to Thranduil. I gave one fourteenth of the treasure to Bard on behalf of the people of Laketown. And I wrote in friendship to Thranduil. But Thranduil still refers to me as ‘Liar’ and ‘Madman’.”

Bilbo inspected Thorin’s face. He had shaken off his Gold Sickness but the memory of his actions-and the fact that he had succumbed to the madness that ran in his line-still shamed him beyond words.

“Hence you stomping around huffing about ‘that damned tree hugger’,” the Hobbit smiled. “You’re kinder to him than he deserves.”

“He’s also making demands about the Feast, about what should be served and who should sit where,” Thorin grumbled. “He demands to sit at the head of the table, since he is providing the food for the feast.”

“You’re the Host, the King Under The Mountain,” Bilbo said in outrage. “How dare he demand that?” The Hobbit was practically bristling in fury. “That’s a complete insult to all rules of hospitality! In the Shire, such behaviour would get you ostracised for three generations!”

Thorin smiled at his friend’s righteous and protective anger. He just didn’t have the words to express everything he felt for the Hobbit-a creature he had criminally underestimated, insulted, undermined and wronged throughout the Quest-yet who had saved his life, his Kingdom and his soul. It was only when he had gotten over his prejudiced first impressions of the soft, comfortable creature who had been so fussy about his manners, his pantry and his beautiful, comfortable home that Thorin had realised the creature’s true mettle. Bilbo was brave, resourceful, quick-thinking, kind, generous and decent. And he had forgiven Thorin for his prejudices, vouching for him in Laketown to the odious Master and saved him by taking the Arkenstone. He could see how sick he had been now but even then, Bilbo was the only person he had not suspected, gifting him a Kingdom’s ransom in the form of a Mithril shirt that had saved his life more than once. And when he had turned on Bilbo, the Hobbit had still come to his aid at the end. The King would have been happy parting just as friends-but instead, Thorin had lived and perhaps there was hope for something more.

In truth, Thorin had never thought beyond regaining Erebor. Somewhere in his heart, he had accepted he would die in the Quest, though he had hoped his nephews would survive to continue Durin’s Line. Waking from his fever, his body wounded almost to destruction and weak as a kitten had been a sobering moment for Thorin. Emotions had cascaded over him-shock, worry for his nephews and his friends, shame at his actions, gratitude for the aid he had been afforded and sadness that he would never see Bilbo again, for he had suspected the Hobbit would have left after his cruel banishment by the madness-wracked King. And one final emotion, relief, had washed all the others away when Bilbo had walked into his makeshift sick room-a small storage chamber that was the best they could manage. In that moment, Thorin had felt hope wash over him that he could repair his relationship with the Hobbit, earn his trust and maybe…maybe…persuade him at least to stay a little longer in Erebor.

“If I’m not careful, you’ll declare war on Thranduil,” he chuckled, the sound causing Bilbo to blush.

“It’s-it’s shameful!” he spat, still steaming. “Lord Elrond is a perfect host and he travelled all the way from Rivendell to save your life. And he summoned the Lady Galadriel who toiled for many hours with him to haul you back from the brink of death. They were absolutely proper and decent and kind and generous and yet Thranduil behaves like a-a-a… _Sackville-Baggins_!”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Thorin asked him lightly, his lips curved in a smile at the Hobbit’s fury. Bilbo nodded.

“Lobelia is a vicious, grasping, thieving witch and Otho-my cousin-is a spineless, venal, avaricious, jealous worm!” Bilbo spat and then took a couple of deep breaths to try to calm himself down. Thorin gasped his hand, feeling the tension slowly ease.

“You know, compared to that, Thranduil may just be a minor nuisance,” he quipped and Bilbo sagged.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “I…it’s just…they’ve been trying to get Bag End off me ever since my parents died. Always going to the Thain and claiming that I am a disgrace, living in such a sumptuous smial when it is just me. That I have no right to live in the home my father built for my mother on their marriage because they want it for their family!” Thorin squeezed his hand again.

“Bilbo-there will always be people in life who are…well, I believe Men use the term ‘assholes’ which seems rather apt,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe, if I had met this Lobelia first in the Shire, my opinion of anyone called ‘Baggins’ would be even poorer than it first was. But I didn’t. I met you-and thank Mahal I did. Thranduil is not going to alter my opinion of him but I accept your admiration of Lord Elrond and I owe him my life. I will not jeopardise the alliances we have begun to create for the pettiness of the Elvish King.” Then he pause and smirked. “But I will engage an expert to ensure that this Feast is the best it can be.” He met Bilbo’s eyes. “You.”

“Me?”

Thorin chuckled again.

“Bilbo-I would wager that you have entertained more and offered more and better hospitality in the last few years than I have in the last century and a half,” he admitted without rancour. Surviving, leading a shocked and homelesspeople, working to support his family and keep his people together had left little time for socialising. “And if the Feast is overseen by a Hobbit…well, then I am certain that the needs of Dwarves, Elves and Men will all be taken into account and no one could possibly complain.”

“Me?”

“Balin and Dori will help you-and anyone else you need,” he promised and bowed his head. “Including myself. I am at your service, Master Baggins.”

“Yavanna,” Bilbo muttered then he glared at Thorin. “I hate you-you know that?”

“Since when?” the dwarf King teased him.

“Since you landed me with dealing with Thranduil’s demands,” Bilbo told him with feeling.

“Leadership is the art of delegation,” Thorin told him, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Who told you that?” Bilbo grumbled.

“Gandalf, Elrond, my mother…”

“Your mother?” Thorin chuckled again.

“A very wise woman,” he said dryly. “Bilbo, I have learned to trust you-in everything. I suspect you are the only one who can organise this without complete disaster…” Bilbo sank back against the stone, sitting next to the King.

“Would you settle for partial disaster?” he asked.

“If there is a disaster, it won’t be of your making,” Thorin assured him and then gave a slight, self-conscious smile. “If you put dwarves, Elves and alcohol in proximity, it's as perilous as lighting a flame in a gas-filled mine.”

“Or provoking a dragon,” Bilbo murmured.

“You did that and survived,” Thorin reminded him. “Bilbo. Everything will be fine.” Then he grimaced as he started to clamber to his feet. Immediately, Bilbo was up, helping haul him to his feet. “And I’m not an invalid,” he grumbled.

“But you’re still limping-and Oin is always grumbling that you don’t rest enough,” Bilbo reminded him.

“There’s an endless list of tasks to complete,” Thorin reminded him, grimacing slightly as he turned to face the Hobbit. Bilbo pressed his lips together. Thorin had smiled more in the course of their conversation than he had seen for the last month.

“I’ll make you a deal, Thorin,” he said seriously, “You take the weight off that leg and stop working at a sensible time-and have dinner with me…and I’ll organise the feast for you.” The King nodded.

“You have yourself a deal, Master Baggins,” he said.

-o0o-

Despite the fact that Balin and Dori had already planned the Feast, Bilbo found there was plenty to help with. He immediately sat them down-with the rest of the Company-and served them all a plate of his honey and sultana buns to calm everyone down. And then he had used the experience helping to plan family weddings, birthdays, Midsummer Parties and Yule Celebrations to reassure them it was all in hand. He and Bombur had reviewed the menu and they had streamlined the fare-including enough green things to offer the Elves options as well as the Men-while adding canapés and snacks for the pre-dinner reception. And he, Bombur, Bofur and Nori had planned the drinks to the last drop. Fili, Kili and Tauriel-who was staying in the Mountain since her exile from Mirkwood-had agreed to gather greenery and Bilbo was pleased with their efforts, deploying it as he would back home in the Shire. But he had made sure that the symbols of Erebor were pre-eminent, to remind the guests of their hosts and where they were being hosted. Carefully, he had gathered symbols of Dale and Laketown, as well as the Elves and Dwarves so that bright banners hung down from the distant roof all the way between the entrance of the mountain and the great banqueting hall, that had been prepared for the occasion. But the dark blue banners with the symbols of the House of Durin were always in view.

Torches burned brightly and evergreen vegetation was hung strategically to bring the outdoors inside-a touch that satisfied Bilbo’s Hobbit sensibilities as well as catered to Elvish tastes. There were little savoury scones, sausage rolls, cheese pastries, beetroot and goat cheese bites, vegetable and fruit crisps, honey mini-muffins and mini pies circulating to the guests at the welcome reception. Trays of drinks were also circulating-water, fruit juice, ale, cider, wine and mead-and everyone was on their best behaviour.

Bard and his family led the contingent from Dale. The refugees from Laketown had started to move into the city and a few were already ensconced, though as many still lived in the Mountain. The dwarves were lending all the help they could in rebuilding Dale, recognising that they had regained a home while the Men had completely lost theirs. There was a lot of gratitude from the Men and they had willingly helped supply the dwarves with fish from the rivers while the dwarrow used their skills in helping rebuild Dale.

Fili, Kili and Bofur were on greeting duty, for they were among the most personable of the Company. Dori was fussing around but was acting as Host and graciously ensuring everyone had a drink or snack A few dwarves were playing their instruments quietly as the guests arrived-Thorin had volunteered six times to help by playing the harp-but Bilbo had vetoed this, for it just wasn’t the done thing for the host to hide away in the musicians. Dain was already in the Hall, sharing a few anecdotes with Dwalin, Bifur and a very twitchy Thorin. Balin and Bard were engaged in a vigorous discussion about how the trade and communications would work between the two cities when they were interrupted by the brassy sound of horns and the Elvish contingent swept in.

Thorin stiffened. He was looking magnificent in a tunic of deep Durin blue, embroidered with silver, a cloak of silver fur cascading from his shoulders. Despite his better judgement, he was wearing the crown of Erebor-he rather hated the thing because it was heavy and in his mind, it felt like a shackle, reminding him and tying him to his worst deeds-for he knew that Thranduil would be wearing his crown and looking Elvishly regal. Bard and any who needed it had been supplied with rich fabrics, leather and clothing by the dwarves and Thorin himself had spoken with Bard-a direct descendent of Gideon, King of Dale-and had personally forged a crown that resembled the one he recalled from his youth. For the first time, Bard was wearing the crown, his brow furrowed but relieved at the warm welcome he had his people received from their neighbours.

Thranduil glided forward, flanked by twice the agreed number of attendants and Bilbo rolled his eyes. He had guessed that the Elven King would do everything to make life awkward for Thorin so he had ensured they had horrendously overcatered but even he held his breath as the Elven King halted a couple of yards from Thorin and inclined his head as if he was the host. Thorin gave a gracious bow, never taking his eyes from the guest and Bilbo mirrored the action.

“Welcome to Erebor,” Thorin said, keeping his voice as neutral as he could manage.

“It looks…more drab than I recall,” Thranduil commented, his gaze sweeping the beautifully decorated room. “Still, you lost many. That must have included most of your protocol specialists…”

“Drink, your Highness?” Dori asked, carrying a golden tray laden with goblets of white wine. Thranduil made a face. “I can fetch red wine, ale, mead, brandy, whiskey…”

“…stagnant water, dragon blood, poison…” Thorin muttered under his breath. Bilbo elbowed him in the side.

“This will be…adequate…” Thranduil sneered, taking a goblet. Once he had helped himself, his retinue all gathered drinks and then the trays of canapés were offered. Thranduil sneered at the offerings, though most of his party tried the food.

“It all looks rather…rustic…” the Elven King sneered. Thorin’s hands clenched into fists, knowing how hard Bilbo and his friends had worked.

“Aye-but it’s a homely look, rather than your sterile halls,” Dain interrupted, lifting his tankard of beer in greeting. “Good spread, cousin. And the nosh in the banquet smells mouth-watering.”

“Bombur and his helpers have excelled themselves,” Thorin replied, forcing himself not to turn away from the Elven King. “I hope you will find the Feast more to your taste, Thranduil. It is infinitely better than the fare you offered me and my Company when we visited your kingdom.”

There was a frosty silence as Thranduil and Thorin glared at each other.

“It’s not going very well, is it?” Ori commented, leaning close to Dwalin. The tattooed warrior scowled and folded his arms across his chest.

“Those tree shaggers wouldn’t know good grub and good grog if it bit them on their scrawny asses,” he growled.

“Is that even possible?” Bofur asked, drifting over to join them. They watched the Elves begin to circulate, talking to the Men easily but sneering at the dwarves, as if they were servants and beneath their notice.

“Bilbo is looking stressed,” Ori noted, gesturing over to where Thorin and Thranduil were trading polite barbs.

“And Thorin looks fit to explode,” Dwalin added. “Not that anyone would blame him for axing off that prissy tent pole’s head…”

“Except the other Elves,” Balin put in, approaching. Then he sighed. “I knew this would happen…”

“What would happen?” Kili asked, trotting up with Fili and Tauriel at his shoulders. “Oh.” Tauriel lowered her head.

“My King is very…petty when he wishes,” she sighed. “And he is mortally offended that you all escaped his clutches…”

“That would be thanks to Mister Boggins…” Kili began and yelped as his brother elbowed him.

“Bilbo!” he corrected his brother. “You _promised_ you wouldn’t call him that again. He’s done amazingly in organising all of this.”

“Sorry,” Kili sighed. “It just winds him up so beautifully…”

“So what can we do?” Tauriel asked.

“Maybe…bring him down a peg or so?” Fili asked, his eyes sweeping over his friends.

“How?”

“Bofur-do you have any hooch?” he asked. Everyone stared at the Prince. “Look-Thorin can’t know about this. But we can ensure the Elves have slightly stronger drinks than anyone else…that may distract them from baiting Thorin and ruining the evening for everyone…”

“I’m not sure it’s a good…” Balin began but his brother cut him off.

“That’s a brilliant idea!” he said, grinning.

“And I asked Bilbo to brew up some typical Shire drinks,” Bofur admitted. “He said he only knew one-Old Hamfast Gamgee’s Lethal Bywater Moonshine. So he brewed quite a lot over the winter. I believe it is pretty strong…”

“How strong?” Nori asked, curious despite himself.

“Bombur had some and he was out after half a mug,” Bofur admitted with a grimace. “For eight hours. I think it probably rates somewhere between Azog and Smaug for lethalness…”

“Oh, this is really a bad idea,” Balin told them. “Look-this Feast is meant to thank those who came to help us against Azog and Bolg and the Orcs and Wargs! I really don’t see that poisoning them with lethal hooch would be a fitting show of gratitude!”

“It might be,” Dwalin mumbled but Ori nudged him as they all considered Balin’s words. There was a pause and uncomfortable shuffling of feet as the band switched to one of the Hobbit tunes they had been taught. It was a much lighter and bouncier tune and the atmosphere lightened slightly.

“He’s right,” Tauriel reminded them.

“I know,” Kili said unhappily. The older Prince folded his arms and glared at the Elven King, who was clearly baiting Thorin again.

“Okay,” he conceded ungraciously. “For now, we will try to be good hosts.” He huffed. “But if he does one more thing to wind up Uncle, insult Erebor or upset Bilbo…Bofur is to make sure they get lots of Bilbo’s special brew. Agreed?”

There was a universal nodding of heads, even Balin, who had caught the last remark by the Elven King and was astonished that Thorin hadn’t punched him. In fact, he was astonished at the King’s forbearance and the old dwarf suspected it was only the presence of the Hobbit that had stayed his wrath. It didn’t take a genius to see that Thorin relished the Hobbit’s company, offering his friendship and affection in a way that he never had with any other and Balin really hoped that Bilbo would choose to stay. After everything he had suffered and lost in his life, everything he had sacrificed and given for his people, Thorin deserved some happiness of his own. Though observing the Hobbit had convinced the old dwarf that Bilbo did indeed have feelings for the King. Balin was keeping his fingers crossed and praying to Mahal that the two men actually recognised their affections and acted on them.

“Fili-this is on you.” Balin warned him-and the blond Prince suddenly gave a huge grin.

“You know, Balin-that is one responsibility I am happy to accept!” he said.

At that moment, a gong sounded, the brassy sound reverberating through the room, calling them to the meal. Thranduil swept ahead, intending to take a seat at the head of the table-and then he screeched to a halt, There was an outbreak of angry Sindarin as Bilbo started sniggering. Thorin cast him a quizzical glance.

“Bilbo-what have you done?” he asked in a low voice, his face still in a scowl from dealing with Thranduil. The Hobbit grinned and looked up into the King’s eyes.

“Come and see,” he invited the King and led him through-to see a large round table dominating the room, elegantly decorated with places for all the guests. Each place was carefully marked with a little label in Westron thus thwarting Thranduil’s aim of causing chaos. The room was beautifully decorated, with garlands of evergreen mixed amid banners of Durin Blue and Woodland Green and Dale Gold. Hundreds of torches made the room bright and the band moved to comfy seats in the corner, flasks of ale and wine and some light snacks waiting for them as they continued to entertain the guests. Thorin took one look-and burst out laughing.

“Master Baggins…” he began and doubled up with laughter, catching the fury on Thranduil’s face. “That was perfect. I could kiss you!” Bilbo blushed.

“Erm…maybe now is not the time,” he said and scuttled away as Thorin stared after him and face-palmed. Fili paused at his side.

“Everything alright, Uncle?” he asked as his King straightened up. He sighed.

“Yes,” he sighed. “I think I may have scared Bilbo off…” Fili grinned at him.

“Uncle-I don’t think he scares that easily,” he reminded the King. “Now come on. I think Bilbo has seated me by you to help fend off unwanted Elves…” There was a scuffle and three Elves stood up, pulling out flutes and began playing behind the Elven King, trying to drown out the dwarfish players. Bilbo stared at them and then face-palmed.

“Unbelievable!” he muttered. “That is just…” Kili glanced at him and shoved him into the seat marked ‘Kili’ at Thorin’s side then retreated to sit with Tauriel, who was sitting amid the Company a little further round the table, safely further away from the glowering Elven King.

Thranduil was seated stiffly with his son Legolas on one side and Captain of the Guard Elros on the other. Bard with his son Bain and daughters Sigrid and Tilda sat among the men and women of Dale/Laketown, enjoying the food and chattering cheerfully. The servers brought plates of boar and beef, chickens and ducks, trout and bream and eel, pies and pasties, roast and mashed potatoes, roasted squashes and turnips, nut roast and cheese flans, cabbages and broccoli and peas and beans and jugs of rich, brown gravy. Baskets of brown and white and seeded rolls were placed on the table with pats of ice-cold butter and a dozen sauces, condiments and ketchups were all placed on salvers for the guests to use. Jugs of water were refilled on the table and every goblet was refilled by the eager servers.

“Ah! This is dwarfish hospitality!” Gloin announced. “Good company, red meat and malt beer! Everything you need for a good evening with friends!” There were cheers from the dwarves and most of the Men, with tankards and goblets raised to cheer their hosts.

“Hmph,” Thranduil sneered, picking his trout delicately. “Inferior food, poor bread and drunken oafish dwarves. A poor thanks for our rescue…”

“What do you mean your rescue?” Dain shouted. “We came to help Thorin when you were prissying around, you long-haired tree hugger!”

“And who ended the battle? Not you!”Legolas sneered back. “I slew Bolg…”

“And Thorin definitely killed Azog!” Fili put in, raising his goblet. Sensing a glaring contest-or worse-about to break out, the King Under The Mountain got to his feet, his blue eyes sweeping across the assembled guests.

“FRIENDS!” he announced, his voice cutting across the hubbub. Every eye turned to inspect his regal shape. “I thank all my allies and friends, firstly of whom are the friends and family who trusted in me and travelled across Middle Earth and many dangers to return to Erebor. And especially Bilbo Baggins, the bravest of them all, the Hobbit who ensured that we stand here in victory, rather than lying in cold graves, unmarked and unmourned. I offer thanks and friendship to our allies-to Bard and his people who have helped and supported us, to my cousin Dain who rode to our aid and fought at our sides and to our Elven allies who helped us defeat the Orcs and have supplied us through the coldest months!”

He raised his goblet.

“To friendship!” he announced and took a deep drink. The others raised their goblets and tankards, all yelling agreement. Bofur and Gloin clashed tankards and yelled :

“TO THORIN!”

Thranduil leaned towards his son as Bofur and Nori began to sing.

“How long do we have to endure the offensive company of these dwarfish drunken ruffians?” he sneered.

There was a second of silence and Bilbo and Fili both grabbed Thorin’s arms, seeing the King scowl in fury at the insult. Then Bofur stood up,

“I suppose you pansy Elves can’t hold your liquor like we can?” he challenged the Elven King and Thranduil looked at him as if he was a nasty insect.

“I am Eldar and we do not lose in anything to you mud-grubbing second born ragamuffins!” he spat to cheers from the dwarves.

“So it’s on!” Bofur yelled.

By now Balin and Dwalin had joined in hanging onto Thorin, who looked fit to commit murder. Fili leaned close to his Uncle.

“We have this in hand,” he hissed, nodding to Kili and Tauriel. They hastened with Bofur to the jugs they had prepared in case and sped forward, filling the Elves’ goblets. The usual servers served the other dwarves while Bard looked alarmed and rose, walking slowly over to speak to Thorin, who angrily shook his friends off him, once he had promised not to decapitate anyone.

“Should we go?” he asked as the King Under The Mountain suddenly looked up and sighed.

“No,” he apologised, looking ashamed. “Please. My…issues with Thranduil…have made you uncomfortable and for that I am truly sorry….”

“I would say it’s more his issues with you,” Bard commented with a smile, sipping his ale. “What did you do to him, by the way?”

“You mean apart from being born a dwarf?” Thorin asked dryly.

“That’s it?”

“Well, I am Thror’s son and Thranduil really didn’t see eye to eye with my Grandfather,” Thorin admitted. “Oh-I may have insulted him and escaped from his dungeons as well.”

Bard chuckled.

“A true recidivist,” he murmured conspiratorially. “Guilty of being a dwarf, eh? Terrible.” He sipped his beer and leaned closer. “Want me to judge the drinking contest?”

“I wouldn’t want to put you in that position,’ he said regretfully. “You have to deal with the old spider as well…and you need their food…” Bard gave a shrug.

“The offer is there,” he said and clapped Thorin’s shoulder. “And for the record, I’m rooting for your side!”

“Thank you,” Thorin replied and managed a small smile. When not negotiating hard for the interests of his people, Bard was a somber man with a dry sense of humour and Thorin found himself liking the man, recognising a leader in a similar circumstances to those he had found himself in after Erebor fell. Bard nodded and headed back to his children as Seconds were being served as well as a selection of desserts for the guests. Bilbo walked back to his side, having gone to chat with Bofur and the rest of the Company.

“Thorin?” he asked. The King gave a small smile, though his eyes were distracted.

“What do the others say?” Thorin asked.

“Ori and Nori aren’t keen on the green stuff,” he admitted. “They loved the pies though. Dwalin polished off half a boar’s worth of ribs on his own. Dori is almost weeping in delight at how happy Bard’s children are. In fact Bard’s party ate everything put down in front of them and some of the women wanted my chicken and sage pie recipe. Oin grumbled about the flutes but loved the mead. Wouldn’t have picked that. Bombur is practically flat out with relief. Kili and Tauriel had a more relaxing time though she was very self conscious of the other Elves glaring at her-I think they were murmuring some insults in Sindarin. Only Thranduil was complaining.”

“Nothing new there…” Thorin muttered. There was a pause.

“I think the lads have come up with an idea,” Bilbo murmured. There was a pause as Thorin registered his words and looked deep into the Hobbit’s eyes. Bilbo was trying not to laugh.

“Bilbo?” he murmured. The Hobbit chuckled.

‘Let’s just say that Bofur doesn’t believe the Elves have the drinking capacity of a Hobbit,” he confessed. “Now I think you have to join in as well-unless you want Thranduil to call you a wimp…” Thorin grinned.

“I’m not having that!” he admitted and glanced over to his friends, snatching his tankard. “TO EREBOR!” The dwarves all roared and drained their drinks, them looked expectantly at the Elves. Thranduil gave a superior look and drained his drink. The others in his party reluctantly followed suit. Legolas leaned forward.

“Adar-this is not wise,” he murmured. Thranduil stared at him remotely, his eyes cold.

“I will not be laughed at by these…dwarves…” he spat.

“They are our allies, Adar,” his son reminded him. “They invited us here in friendship. In thanks.” Discreetly, Kili walked by and refilled their goblets.

“And yet they insult us by keeping that traitor here-and she insults her King by her blatant flirtation with that…” Thranduil spluttered to a halt and glared at Kili. The younger nephew winked and flashed a grin. Legolas sighed. He liked Tauriel and admired her-and while he could not condone her attraction to another species, let alone a dwarf, he understood that she had to follow her heart. She had sacrificed her place among her people for her paramour and to Legolas, that courage and dedication was admirable and honourable.

“TO EREBOR!”

Thranduil drained his goblet again.

“Adar-she deserves thanks for her part in the battle,” Legolas reminded Thranduil. “Her actions saved one of the King’s nephews.”

“As did you…” the Elven King protested, slamming his fist onto the table. “They lied and cheated, their King was mad and he wronged me as badly as his grandsire!”

“He apologised,” Legolas reminded the King. “On his knees! A man who confesses his weakness and sins and begs forgiveness before someone who loathes him is a man who shows remorse and great courage and honour. An ally who wishes to do better…”

“I really don’t believe…”

“TO EREBOR!”

Thranduil drained his glass again, glaring. Bifur walked by, grumbling in Khuzdul, and refilled the goblets once more. Legolas took a long pull on his own drink, grimacing. The wine was much harsher than usual and even he was wondering if they had been treated to an inferior vintage…or maybe, the dwarves had been forced to take what they could source, so soon after a major battle and living in an isolated and still profoundly damaged kingdom…

“You’re such a disappointment,” Thranduil told his son. Legolas blinked, drawn back to the present.

“Wha’?” he murmured, blinking. Thranduil frowned.

“I jus’ wanna be _loved_ …” the King whined. “And no one loves me really. You think I’m a bad father…”

“I don’….” Legolas protested. “I love you Adar!”

“I love you, son!” Thranduil announced and hugged him. “My little baby…you were so cute when you were an elfling. I remember you used to fire your little bow at Galion. I think you managed to hit him in the butt for eight days in a row one time. I recall the guards told me that he used to get on his hands and knees to check if you were hiding under the tables or boxes before he would go about his work. He almost quit…”

“I’m sorry, Adar…” Legolas sniffed and sat on the chair, his legs folded under him. He stuck his lower lip out and sniffed sadly.

Meanwhile, Thorin, Fili and Dwalin were all refilling each other’s tankards and jeering at the Elves. Surprised, Bilbo was watching as the King grinned and almost poured half his beer down his front. He frowned, his brow furrowing.

“Are the Elves…drunk?” he asked, his speech slightly slurred. Bilbo nodded.

“That was the plan,” Fili offered, grinning.

“What?”

“Well, we thought it would serve them right if they continued being rude to you and insulting Erebor,” the Prince explained. “So we switched their wine…for Bilbo’s moonshine…” Thorin stared.

“You brewed moonshine?”he asked. Bilbo nodded.

“Bofur asked me of I could make some and there really wasn’t much here so I did the best I could but I may have distilled it a bit much…though Hamfast’s is pretty lethal to be honest…”

“And you have been plying the Elves with this hooch?” he asked sternly. Fili grinned.

“Yup,” he said happily. Thorin stared at his heir and then at the Hobbit. “Oh, Bilbo didn’t know until we told him as Bofur made the challenge. We planned it. All of us…except Bilbo.”

Then they heard the stamp of feet and saw Bofur, standing on the table, dancing crazily and singing a salty ditty. The King slumped into his chair.

“This is going to be a disaster,” he groaned.

“Maybe,” Bilbo said.

“No-we’ll be at war after this,” Thorin groaned, covered his eyes with his hand. Bilbo settled on the arm of his chair.

“I did promise you a partial disaster-though I didn’t expect your nephew to be the author of it,” he reminded his friend with a wry grin. Then he stared at the Elves and nudged Thorin. “What are they doing?” They stared as six Elves got onto the table and linked arms. Their fellows started clapping as the Elves started bouncing up and down…before all, in perfect harmony, high-kicking their right legs. Then they bounced again, swivelling slightly and high-kicking with their left.

“ _La-la-lalala-la-LA LA-la-la-lala-LA-LA…_ ” the Elves sang as they clapped along and the line continued high kicking. Tauriel and Kili filled their goblets again before they came to crouch by Thorin and Bilbo.

“What are they doing?” Bilbo hissed. The female Elf looked a little self-conscious.

“It is a secret celebratory dance,” she said reluctantly. “I think the translation into Common Speech is…the Can Can…”

“Never heard of it,” Dwalin said.

“Thats because it’s secret,” Tauriel said in an exasperated tone.

“ _Why…Why…Why…Delilah_ …”

“What the…?” Thorin murmured as a chorus of Elvish voices rose above flutes and the sounds of the other Elves singing along to the dancers.

“Popular Elvish ballad,” Tauriel said quickly.

“Drinking song…” Kili guessed.

“ _I get knocked down…but I get up again…you are never gonna keep me down…_ ”

A chorus of dwarves voices roared in reply, fists slamming on the table.

“And that?” Tauriel asked, frowning.

“Dwarvish drinking song!” Kili replied proudly. Thorin groaned.

“Which always precedes a brawl,” he said wearily. Bilbo glared at Fili.

“How much moonshine did you hand out?” he asked.

“All of it?” the blond Prince offered, looking sheepish.

“All? _All of it?_ ” Bilbo hissed. Thorin stared at him.

“That is bad?”

“There was enough there to get half the Shire drunk!” he hissed.

“We dwarves have much higher alcohol tolerances,” Thorin reminded him though Bilbo’s cynical expression challenged him and he paused. “Has…everybody been given this hooch?” Fili, Kili and Tauriel nodded.

“We started with the Elves but after a few refills the jugs got muddled and everyone has been drinking it…” she explained. “And the dwarves just started helping themselves…”

“Ye pansy tree shaggers can’t hold yer liquor!”

The voice of Dain cut across the singing as the King of the Iron Hills stabbed an accusatory finger at Thranduil, who was holding Legolas’s head and stroking it. He grabbed the nearest jug and necked half of it. Bilbo held his breath, his stomach falling as he saw Kili look alarmed.

“Was that…?” he asked as the younger prince nodded.

“Oh dear…”

“Ye shee? Sholid as a rock! Shound ash the Iron Hillsh!” Dain announced, slamming the jug down. There was a pause and then he pitched forward, unconscious, landing head-first in a bowl of buttery mash.

“HA!” Thranduil gloated, dropping Legolas’s head on the table with a thud. His son whined. “I knew we Firstborn are sup-super-superererer… _better_!” Then he overbalanced and fell backwards. “Inferior dwarfish floors!” he yelled. “This wouldn’t have happened in the Woodland Re-Rea… _home_!”

“Kili-could someone fish King Dain out of the mash before he drowns?” Bilbo asked pointedly, his tone causing the Prince to scramble up and run to help his cousin. Thorin sunk further down his seat.

“Yup. Tomorrow morning when everyone gets over their hangovers we’ll be at War with Thranduil _and_ the Iron Hills,” he concluded.

“I never took you for a gloomy drunk,” Bilbo commented, sliding into his seat at the King’s side. Thorin looked up.

“Never had much to be happy about, to be honest,” he confessed, eyeing his tankard with suspicion. Bilbo took a more relaxed sip from his because he had made sure their jug of wine hadn’t been moved.

“Oh?” he asked. Thorin shook his head.

“Thror demanded I acted like an Heir from the moment I was out of diapers,” he shrugged and rolled his tankard in his hands. “He wasn’t a man to be crossed, even when he was acting as just my Grandfather and not my King. He wasn’t kind and he was very, very strict. And when my younger siblings arrived, I shielded them from him because they didn’t deserve his ire for just being…children. They were still so young when the dragon came and I had to take responsibility for our people as well as the remains of my family. There was always duty and problems. I felt every death, every illness, every hardship. There was always blame, always mutters at my youth and inadequacy. When Thror recovered from his complete incapacity due to the shock, his madness was still there. I tried but in the end…his ambition and refusal to listen to reason spent countless lives at Azanulbizar and I lost him and my father and brother on that day. And then I was the King. There was no one else and all I had was the responsibility to ensure my people were safe and warm and fed. We built a new life in the Blue Hills and they have prospered-but we are still the people who lost our home of Erebor.”He gave a sad smile. “Oh don’t get me wrong-I have friends, cousins and my sister and nephews. But my destiny was the throne of Erebor and protection of my people. I accepted my life would be alone-and that I was probably to die on the Quest.”

Bilbo gently laid his smaller hand on Thorin’s and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you considered us in the Shire and me in particular as inconsequential and shallow but I never considered what burdens you carried. In fact, you came across as a bit of a supercilious asshole.” Thorin chuckled.

“I didn’t give you a chance because I didn’t believe that Gandalf was correct,” he admitted. “And I was comprehensively proven wrong. I cannot ever tell you enough how wrong I was.” Bilbo smiled.

“It’s behind us,” he said forgivingly. Thorin sighed.

“You know-I will miss you terribly when you go back to the Shire,” he admitted. “These last few months, since we have come home and you and I have been…friends…have been among the happiest of my life. Even counting recovering from near mortal wounds…” The Hobbit half-turned to face him.

“Who said I was leaving?’ he asked. Thorin was a melancholy drunk but the alcohol had loosened his tongue a little and the reserved King was talking far more freely than he had previously.

“Your home. Your comfortable armchair and your books and your fire…” he said simply. “It was all you talked of at the beginning. The contract is fulfilled and when the weather warms a little more, the passes will be open to the West and your green and homely Shire. I cannot ask you to stay away from your people and your family and home longer. No matter how much your loss would pain me.” He swallowed. “You told us, when we escaped Goblintown, that you had a home, a place you belonged. And that was why you helped us-because we didn’t have one, That it was taken from us and you would help us take it back, if you could. And you did. In fact, without your help, we would all be dead and the Mountain would be in the hands of others-probably Azog and his vile kind. How can I ask you to abandon your people and the place you love for Erebor when this was my dream, my hope for my people?”

“You could try asking,” Bilbo told him simply.

Thorin stared at him, blue eyes widening in surprise.

“Yes, I miss my home, Thorin,’ the Hobbit told him, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the drunken singing. The Elves had switched to a more upbeat song and the dwarves were joining in as well.

_“Don't stop me now, I'm having such a good time; I'm having a ball; Don't stop me now If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call…”_

“But I have friends here, some I am very close to. And at some point, I will need to go home-though not to stay, by the way-in case they declare me dead and auction off all of my possessions! But I want to help you rebuild your home. I want to help ease your stresses and make you smile. I don’t want you to be alone, Thorin-and much of the time, you are alone-painfully so. You use your mantle of Kingship to keep people away, but it isolates you. And there are so many here who want to ease your burdens. Let us. Let _me_. If you ask me to stay, my friend. I will. Because life changes and sometimes, happiness is not where you imagined it would be. But chances for happiness and love are often few and far between and if you fear to pursue them, then you may never find your true home.”

It was like the sun coming out as one of Thorin’s rare smiles lit his face. He leaned closer.

“Then Bilbo Baggins, would you please…”

“YOU!” Thranduil’s voice cut through the moment as the King staggered forward, his crown askew and improbably decorated with strawberries and blackberries that had been carefully stuck on the points of the crown by a drunken Legolas. “I KNEW YOU WOULD BE BEHIND THIS!”

Bilbo and Thorin’s heads both snapped up and they stared at the Elven King. Thorin pushed Bilbo behind him.

“Thranduil?” he said cautiously because the other King was looking furious.

“First you feed us insultingly boring food then you feed us tainted wine then you have a deathtrap of an uneven floor everywhere I walk and now my men are drunken and out of control!” The tone was vituperative and Thorin sighed.

“You provided the food,” he pointed out.

“And you ruined it!” Thranduil sneered. “I should have known from a creature like you and that-that deformed _Halfling!_ ” The tone was so hateful that Thorin was on his feet in an instant and punched the Elf before Fili or Bilbo had a chance to pull him back. There was a long moment and Thranduil glared at him. “Ow!” he said and toppled back like a felled oak.

“Oops,” Fili commented, clanking his tankard against Bilbo’s.

Half the dwarves began to cheer. Bard raised his mug and offered a nod of congratulation before he turned back to Tilda and Bain. Thorin slumped back in his seat.

“Oh, we will definitely be at war in the morning,” he groaned.

“You have been dying to do that for over a century,” Bilbo pointed out. The King looked at him.

“True. But I’ve been dying to do this for far less time but since I seem to be breaking every convention this evening…” he muttered then lunged forward and kissed Bilbo.

_“BITCH!”_

_“SLUT!"_

_“COW!"_

_“DWARF!”_

Two Elves had risen and were squaring up in Sindarin. Tauriel grabbed Kili and hauled him back.

“Bad?” he asked.

She grimaced as they drew back in a full fighting stance.

“Just say…it’s lucky thing the only cutlery left are the spoons for desserts,” she commented. "These fights can get ugly…” The combatants circled, not helped by the dwarves yelling “FIGHT-FIGHT-FIGHT!” And then they lunged at each other.

There was a shocked silence as the two tall, athletic Elven warriors grabbed each other’s hair and pulled. There was an unseemly wrestle as they tried to claw at each other’s faces and more hair pulling. Tauriel was standing, open-mouthed.

“Truly fearsome,” Kili commented.

“I did not expect that,” Bofur added, absently drinking some more hooch.

“Yeah, I thought they would be more…dignified…” Dwalin murmured, shaking his head. The Elves were slapping at each other and trying to tear their opponent’s clothing.

“Ori was more scary when he was six,” Nori added.

“Dwalin was more scary as a toddler,” Balin put in.

“Thank you, brother,” Dwalin grumbled.

“He still is,” Bofur added.

“Has anyone noticed that Bifur, Dori, Oin and Gloin are having a game of Strip Fuzzy Duck with those eight Elves?” Dwalin asked. There was a collective gulp.

“What?” Kili asked.

“I don’t think anyone explained the rules to them,” Ori added, wandering over. “They keep getting it wrong and having to down another drink and take off an item of clothing. No one dares argue with Bifur anyway!”

“Those four are evil drunks,” Balin explained knowledgeably. “No one here will play any drinking game with them. I’ll bet Gloin has them on a monetary wager as well…”

“Oh dear-that’s the fifth Elf down to his smallclothes,” Ori noted.

“Let’s just pray they don’t go any further,” Nori said. Everyone looked at him. “There are human children present, remember?”

There was a worried look and Balin and Dwalin staggered off to try to break it up. Suddenly Legolas leapt onto the table.

“I, Legolas Greenleaf, shall regain the honour of the Woodland Realm!” he announced. Tauriel sighed.

“Oh no…” she groaned.

“Daddy issues?” Fili suggested, having come over to join them.

“If Thranduil was your father wouldn’t you have some?” his brother suggested.

Legolas leapt upwards and hauled himself up one of the long banners hanging from the roof.

“I don’t think we made those to carry any weight,” Ori put in.

“My father…my beloved Adar…is a wonderful man!” Legolas announced tearfully, hanging upside down from the banner.

“That banner really doesn’t look stable,” Kili said in a loud whisper.

“I mean, he really, _really_ cares. He protects us against a changing world and those from without who would destroy our way of life…”

“Yeah…by kidnapping innocent travellers and locking them up for life for getting lost,” Fili grumbled. “He could have just told us to sling our hooks and put us on the main Forest Road out of Mirkwood. But no…”

“All he demands is respect, love, unquestioning obedience, total loyalty and complete hostility to all outsiders! Is that too much to ask?” Legolas asked, his impassioned voice raised above the sounds of ‘ _Don’t Stop Me Now…_ ” which was on its third rendition.

“I say no!” Legolas called. There were tears running down his cheeks. “He’s a wonderful father…”

“Don’t think so,” Tauriel murmured.

“I mean _okay_ he’s distant, cold, treats me just like one of his troops and has the emotional attachment of a rock but I know somewhere deep, deep deep down that he loves me!”

“Then you need a dwarf to help you mine for that love!” Gloin yelled, gathering a handful of gold coins from the hapless and now naked Elves.

“And I love him…Adar! You can rely on me…I’ll never let you down…”

His emotional plea was cut short when the banner finally ripped away from its attachment and he landed head first in the magnificent strawberry mousse that Bombur had painstakingly made in honour of the guests. Predictably, the dwarf sat up and gave a huge wail.

“No one appreciates my art!” he complained. “If you knew how long it took me to scour the ancient moulds clean? No! No one knows or cares! All you do is eat and eat and never appreciate that I sweat blood over those pies and the meat and those sauces and the cauliflower cheese that everyone scoffed but no one said a word about except what’s this?” Bifur and Bombur got up and tried to console him but several of the Iron Hills dwarves rolled their eyes.

“Hey-don’t lump us in with those tasteless thoughtless mud-grubbers!” an Elf called. “We appreciated the Cauliflower cheese, the ratatouille, the vegetable lasagne, the roasted vegetables, the…”

“Oh shut up!” one of Dain’s men yelled and lobbed a handful of treacle pudding at the Elf.

There was a shocked silence and Ori, Kili, Fili and Nori all sank below the table. Kili snaked an arm up and hauled Tauriel down.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“FOOD FIGHT!” Bofur yelled and threw a peach cobbler at the dwarf. The Elves screeched and handfuls of the crushed strawberry mousse began hailing on the dwarves. In a moment, it was utter chaos as insults were flung back and forth along with every item of food that was available. The servers had given up and had dumped all the jugs of alcohol on the tables them joined in the food fight. Crawling under the table. Fili, Kili, Nori, Ori and Tauriel were almost at Thorin’s side when Legolas rose to his feet, covered in strawberry mousse and grabbed a chocolate torte.

“For my Adar-I love you Adar!” he yelled. “REVENGE!”Then he flung the cake at the King Under The Mountain, who was still kissing Bilbo. Thorin looked up-just in time to get a cake full in the face.

There was a shocked silence. Slowly, Thorin reached up and scraped the cake off his face, his eyebrows and beard still very chocolatey. Bilbo-who had ducked in time to miss being sideswiped-winced as a scowl twisted the King’s face.

“EREBOR!” he yelled and flung a lemon blancmange straight in Legolas’s face before throwing himself after it. Soon punches and handfuls of food were being flung while Bilbo grabbed a fruit bowl and was using his napkin as a sling to deadly effect, knocking out already inebriated Elves and Dwarves. The Princes shook their heads.

“What just happened?” Fili asked in surprise.

“You just saw protective drunken Thorin,” Bilbo told him, loading up another plum. “Look, he was actually happy and I’m not sure insulting me and flinging a cake in his face are going to improve Elf-Dwarf detente. But I can also see that no one here can handle Hamfast’s Moonshine.” He stared at the five hiding under the table. “And I know you haven’t been drinking so you don’t count!”

“That’s…fair…” Ori admitted. “Dori doesn’t like me drinking. I can see why now…” Kili patted Tauriel’s arm.

“Um…why are the naked Elves forming a line now?” he asked. The female elf frowned and covered her eyes.

“Conga line,’ she groaned.

“What? Some sort of sneak attack?” Fili growled.

“No-it’s a very drunken dance,” Tauriel groaned as each elf put his hands on the shoulders of the Elf in front of him. They started singing and dancing, while advancing around the table. More elves-covered in food and very wobbly on their feet-joined the back of the line.

“Laluh -laluh-laluh-LAH! lala-lala-luhla-LA! La-laa-laa-laa…” they sang as the ever-lengthening line weaved around the chairs.

“We do this in the Shire as well-but with more clothes…” Bilbo said conversationally. Several dwarves and Elves had fallen asleep on the table, some were crying on each others’ shoulders and there seemed to be a lot of kissing going on-on both sides. Bofur and Bombur were still pelting a few hapless elves with some very wonky scones. “But less of that…well, in public…no Hobbit would waste food so shamefully!” He looked up and saw Bard shepherding his family away. Smiling, Bilbo tipped him a wave and a shrug of apology but the King of Dale gave a wink and a smile. Bilbo suspected he had been to his share of drunken taverns in his time. The Hobbit gave a philosophical sigh.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo,” Kili said. “We’ll take the blame for this shambles. You organised a wonderful feast and we…enhanced it…though not completely for the better…”

“No…you’re doing the cleaning up-you and the rest of those scoundrels…” Bilbo told them sternly. “Honestly-none of you can take Hamfast’s hooch!”

“And you can?” Fili challenged him. Bilbo chuckled.

“Who is Hamfast’s neighbour and friend?” he asked them unexpectedly. “I could drink any of you under the table-any Hobbit could. But we also know how to drink in moderation and responsibly at important diplomatic events. Unlike you idiots…” He sighed. “Anyway-can you go and break up Legolas and Thorin. They seem to be just smearing desserts over each other now but even so, I suspect I’m going to have to be the one to help get bilberry jelly and custard out of Thorin’s hair.”

“We’re on it!” Fili and Kili said as Ori and Tauriel shared a glance as Nori mulled over the words.

“So…you and the King…?” the Elf asked with a small smile.

“No less unexpected than you and the Prince,” the Hobbit replied, his eyes softening. “But yes. I think. Though I suspect Thorin will be horribly awkward and conflicted and embarrassed when he gets over the hangover.”

“I suspect all of them will,” Tauriel murmured.

“Thorin is worried everyone will declare war on us for this omnishambles,” Bilbo mused. “But I think everyone will quietly forget what happened and just be excessively polite about the whole thing. And send demands that Hobbit Moonshine should NEVER be served at diplomatic banquets again.”

“I think…that would be wise,” Tauriel agreed carefully. The singing was growing louder.

“Shall we join the conga line?” Ori suggested and Bilbo nodded, staring at the devastation: food everywhere, naked Elves making out, broken banners and furniture, food fights, Dwarves crying in each other’s beards, unconscious drunken Elves and dwarves, Fili and Kili hauling Thorin off a custard-covered Legolas, Thranduil still unconscious on the floor, now liberally splattered with fallout from the food fight and a conga line inexorably heading their way. He drained his glass-which was in fact, filled with Hamfast’s hooch and had been most of the evening.

“Elves and Dwarves-just can’t handle their booze,” he commented with a sigh. “Okay-we may as well! It’s never a good party without a conga!” And with that, they were up, joining the ever-lengthening line and weaving off singing raucously into the unsuspecting rest of Erebor.

**The End.**

**-o0o-**

**A/N: That may have gotten a little out of hand. Hope you enjoyed!**

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Delilah’ written by Barry Mason/Les Reed
> 
> ‘Tubthumping’ Songwriters: Judith Abbott / Nigel Hunter / Paul Greco / Louise Watts / Alice Nutter / Darren Hamer / Allan Whalley / Duncan Bruce
> 
> “Don’t Stop Me Now’ written by Freddie Mercury
> 
> All rights remain with their copyright holders.


End file.
